Destroy Everything You Touch

A Review of DESTROYER (2018)
Directed by Karyn Kasuma
Written by Phil Hay and Mat Manfredi
Cinematography by Julie Kirkwood
Score by Theodore Shapiro
Staring Nicole Kidman, Toby Kebbell, Tatiana Maslany, Scoot McNairy, Bradley Whitford, Toby Huss, and Sebastian Stan

Stop me if you've heard this before, but, I have a soft spot for certain kinds of movies. European technothrillers are one of them. Cops-on-the-edge are another. There is just something deeply compelling about people with a strong sense of right and wrong headed for a brick wall at a hundred miles an hour. Destroyer is definitely one of those and it's a pretty good one of those, at that.

The strength of Destroyer is that it's a film that does not want to be liked. It's characters are all assholes and they're all making obvious, if logical mistakes. It stays true to the sub-genre and doesn't ever feel the urge to make its characters have hearts of gold or secret doubts. No, they're just scared apes with shoes that are just smart enough to know that they'll be dead soon. It's a tragedy by way of a police procedural and while it isn't anything shocking or new, it is well put together

The plot of the film centers around Erin Bell (Nicole Kidman), a Los Angeles Police Department detective at the end of her tether. A body is found on the banks of the LA river and Bell, on her own accord, descends into the hell of an undercover case she worked from the beginning of her career. 

And, because we live in a post-True Detective world, her journey takes place across split times, weaving flashbacks into the narrative, showing Kidman’s Erin Bell before she was a complete waste-oid. The film bounces back and forth between young make-up and old make-up until the two narratives meet in a fairly unexpected way and, of course, Bell ends up where all bad cops in these sorts of movies end up: Exactly where she deserves.*

(It's also worth stating that in between the "beginning" of the film and the end of the film, we're treated to several botched bank robberies, lots of scenes of hangovers, and one of the saddest handjobs in all of cinema-- a point of distinction, to be sure.)

Nicole Kidman is the heart of this movie. Without her-- even with the odd bits of brilliant direction-- there is no film. As much as this movie throws wigs and dentures and weird make-up on top of her, Kidman never stops acting natural. She is believable as a bright-eyed young thing, as well as a boozed-up mom that should have been put out to pasture years ago. It's not so much intense as it is this slow motion garbage fire. It's a lot of fun to watch and it's the human heart beating at the center of what could have been an otherwise dreary bit of nihilism.**

One choice that stands out in the film is just how impervious Kidman's Bell is to cop one-liner bullshit. On multiple occasions, the older embittered Kidman character runs up against cops giving  her a ribbing and she just looks at them, as one should any time anyone tries to break your balls, with a look of confusion and contempt. It's a character choice and a script detail that I deeply connect with.

Would I say that I'm a Sebastian Stan stan? Yes, I would.

Sebastian Stan co-stars as a fellow cop/co-conspirator/lover and, as it typical with somebody juggling so many different jobs, it doesn't go great for him. It's always good to see Sebastian Stan and it's especially nice to see him acting in something that is more interesting than a house payment. I like him a lot, both in this movie and in general. I’ve liked him ever since Kings (a show that me and three other people watched). Anyways, go watch Kings.

Oh yeah, I guess he's pretty good in it. I mean, just look at him. He's great. But, also, I really just wanted to mention Kings. It was a great show and it had a lot going for it and the timing just wasn't right for it.

Man. Kings. . .

And speaking of fan favorites and True Detective, this movie has Scoot McNairy! And for once in his fucking career, he gets to play a normal guy who gets to live a normal life! I'll watch him in anything, but it's an especially nice change of pace when you're not counting down the minutes to him getting shot in the back of the head or whatever.

And, to clarify, Scoot was not in Kings, but you should still try to hunt it down anyways.***

The score from Theodore Shapiro is perfect for the film. Like the film itself, it vaccilates between these moments of well-composed beauty to ugly, droning heavy metal****. Like every great score, it both helps establish and amplify the sun-bleached horrorshow world of Destroyer.

Again, maybe I'm a sucker, but I do love me some sunbleached LA set to distorted violin strings. Or maybe it's because I'm American and I've got fuckin' taste.

Like a lot of movies, Destroyer is a movie that kind of came and went. And like a good chunk of those movies, it doesn't deserve that fate. While it isn't anything shockingly new, its stand out achievements in direction and acting elevate the picture above the usual morass of these sorts of stories-- and the sorts of movies that make all of the money these days. Destroyer is a work with a perspective and it sells its ideas with skill and with beauty-- albeit the beauty of a brush fire.

FOOTNOTES:
* And that's maybe why these movies are still tolerable: They're the only avenue in which bad cops actually get what they deserve. What a cool thing.

** On an ironic level, it's also fun to watch Nicole Kidman play "against type," meaning "what if she wasn't attractive?"

*** Seriously, watch Kings. It was only one season long and it's greatest sin was that it came out on network TV right before streaming and prestige TV blew up. It had Ian McShane and Bryan Cox on it!

**** I'm a little less hot on the droning metal part of the soundtrack. Again, as much as I'm a sucker for that sort of a thing, I do find it slightly annoying that, as a society, we all decided that traditional symphonic scores were just going to be replaced by synths being records in the next apartment over. I mean, whatever. It usually works. I shouldn't complain.

James Kislingbury is a writer, podcaster, and does not smoke indoors. Must be losing his touch. You can listen to him here and here. You can shovel piles of lucre at him here and here.

BAMF: The Motion Picture

A Review of Nightcrawler (2014)

There's a term I heard on the TV show Hannibal, which is “the stitching of that person suit you wear.” That's Jake Gyllenhaal's Lou Bloom. He is a monster barely contained by the suit of skin he wars. It is an incredible performance that bleeds out onto is a film that lives and breathes with its titular character.

Lou Bloom cut from the same cloth as the kind of characters that shambled and limped through Raymond Chandler's vision of LA. He's a low rent hustler, with no virtues save ambition. That's what makes him so frightening, so terrifyingly realistic. He's a man born of disappointment and an indifferent world, and of a society that feeds off of pettiness and fear. He seems like a man capable of anything.That is what Nightcrawler is about. This tension is why the whole thing works.

Nightcrawler is the kind of movie I will see just based on its concept alone. It's about a scumbag, it focuses on a bizarre and dicey vocation, and it takes place almost entirely in Los Angeles at night. That is my kind of movie

So much of Nightcrawler reminds me of the diner scenes out of Taxi Driver. While it is a crime movie, it is more about the characters than it is about what they do (in the back of my mind The Friends of Eddie Coyle, another classic 70's crime film, also jumps to mind). There's a certain loneliness built into both pictures. They are about the men on the periphery. Not only in the periphery of the criminal world, but of the entire world. You can see it in Lou's bed, which seems like an object that is barely willing to accommodate his presence. It also helps that Gyllenhaal plays Lou like the Bickle brother who went out west.

Nightcrawler is more than just an homage or a throwback. Like all good movies, it is smarter than the genre that contains it. While 1970's grit looms in the background and the chain smoke of pre-Code crime films wafts into every frame, it exists as an original, modern film. It's a smart film that doesn't need to show you how clever it is. It's a movie that comes out of a long line of other films (including movies as disparate as Network and Broadcast News, or even Ace in the Hole), yet it has something to say about the seediness of modern news and the depravity of modern society. But, like its heritage, it doesn't wear its themes on its sleeves. It's a thriller first and foremost and like Lou Bloom, there's something hiding beneath the surface.

With all of that said, the score is one of the more lacking scores things I have heard in a good, long while (as I write this, the soundtrack of The Proposition kicked off and does not make me feel any kinder towards Nightcrawler's score).

It feels like a graduate of a Explosions in the Sky School For Ambient What-Have-You Nonsense (and even then it only graduated because its dad donated a new kinesiology center). Besides being sonically underwhelming, it doesn't feel right for the film. Maybe I'm saying this because Drive, the last interesting LA-at-night movie to come out is looming in the background, but I feel like I'm also saying this because the score simply doesn't work. When you're trying to strike a mood, playing the most generic music that you can is not a great start. Say what you will about Drive, it is a movie that strikes a mood. Nightcrawler would have benefited from a much slimier score than what it ended up with.

Another thing the film reminds me of a Neil Gaiman quote. When Constantine came out in 2005, he said that the movie would have been better had Constantine been British and had his signature tan trenchcoat. Why? Because it just would have been. Because Neil Gaiman said so.

I feel the way about the year in which this movie is set. It's supposed to take place in the modern era, but there's just something that doesn't quite connect with me. I don't buy it, which makes me think that it was written as a period piece and brought up to the present to make it more commercial. That's purely speculation, but I do know in my bones that this movie would have somehow been better had it been set in the 1980's or early to mid 90's. Why? Because.I mean, do you believe that there are crews of freelance newsmen roaming the Southland in this year of our Lord Two-Thousand-Fourteen? Of course you don't.

It would have also allowed for the period appropriate synth soundtrack that I want to bad.

Another quibble is that they very clearly shot the same three streets over and over again. That Del Taco must have been on screen at least half a dozen times. Same with the faux-Tudor bank and the Chase building. You don't think I see you, Chase building? I do!

But that's a consequence of what the film is, it's hardly an artistic choice, it's just a result of the film's very meager budget. But part of that is endearing. It kind of shows that the film is closer in its bloodline to film noir in more than its subject matter.

It's fun, it's scrappy, and it tells a kind of story with a kind of character that I don't know if I've ever seen before. It's also an engaging movie that still manages to say a lot about people, the news, and just how messed up this country is. Nightcrawler is something well worth hunting down and checking out, even if you're as late to the scene as I am.

James Kislingbury is Los Angeles deritus. He writes, podcasts, and generally schemes. Support his endeavors.

The Limey: A Play in Three Rhyming Acts

I was going to write an entry on Ground Zeroes and then maybe Tomb Raider or, at least the Bioshock Infinite DLC. Instead I finally watched The Limey. Top notch relevant stuff on this blog and nothing but!

If you had to compare The Limey with a 1960's crime film-- and I think that we do-- It's much more Performance than it is Get Carter. Saying that now I realize that's exactly the kind of revenge movie the guy who made King of the Hill would make. It's soft and it's odd and it isn't quite what I was looking for. And that isn't a bad thing.

Instead of being this drama driven by anger and spite, it instead circles around the idea of a revenge film without ever actually becoming one. It takes this dreamy, scenic route through the margins of Hollywood and Los Angeles, and through the journey of an emotionally unstable man, and, yet, in the end, it ends up in the exact same place as a Death Wish or any other revenge movie (and, thankfully, without the cliche at the end about how violence never solved anything and "dig two graves" and blah blah blah).

There's a shoot out, there's catharsis, there's bloody resolution. In the end there's all the things you want, but they aren't the same because of the jounrey you took to get there.The Limey is a different kind of movie-- and I don't mean from a thriller, I mean from all movies. It's an odd duck, The Limey. It's probably why I'm so tepid on it. I can't be too enthusiastic about it because I'm still not sure what it is.

The one thing it does really well is shoot LA in a way that doesn't look like any other film I can think of. Well, maybe White Dog. There's a lot of LA mountains in both of these movies. Lots of scrub land.

It isn't glitzy and it isn't glamorous and it isn't the usual heap of B-roll of the western end of Melrose or Sunset. It isn't involved with Hollywood. There is nothing on parade for the tourists. Hollywood, though, touches on the fringes of this world. And like downtown LA in the background of Valentine's apartment, it's a hazy place many, many miles away.


You know what's a slightly better Terrance Stamp road/crime movie? The Hit. I don't remember too much about that one, but I do remember it being pretty good. I'd bet money that Steven Soderbergh feels the same way.

As for artsy genre movies and Steven Soderbergh movies go see Haywire. It's got a solid cast, a plot that doesn't get in the way of some serious ass kicking, and seems to embrace its genre far more than The Limey does.

I'm off to watch Le Duexieme Souffle next. It's a Jean-Pierre Melville movie, so it can only be so bad. I've also had Out of Sight sitting on top of my player for about a month, so maybe I'll finally get around to cracking that one. . . Plus I still have to watch Faster Pussycat, Kill, Kill!

Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, somebody make a Performance sequel. Set in in the present. Someone get James Fox and Mick Jagger on the phone. Let's hash this thing out while I still think this isn't a terrible fucking idea.

***

AD ZONE

We've got a new episode of White Guys, Square Glasses up. This one is about the caper/high school/cyberpunk/whatever movie Hackers. There's no time better than now to jump on. . . right as we change the name of the show over to A Quality Interruption.

I have comics! My friends have comics! We make comics together! Our two indie anthologies, Old College Comics Presents and The Freshman Fifteen are on sale now in both physical and digital copies. Like my dumb podcast there is no time better than now to buy!

You can also follow me on twitter. You know, hey, because!

I Done Gone to the Library

The Pasadena Public Library is a wonder house.

Besides the fact that it's full of wonderful books that you can just go ahead and take, it has a wonderful comic book collection. I first read Watchmen because of that library. And League of Extraordinary Gentlemen and Sandman and Preacher and quite a few other wonderful books that I never would have picked up if they hadn't been there just waiting for me.

Libraries are pretty good places, as it turns out, especially for young, vulnerable nerds.

This past week I renewed the tradition and picked up the following books:

Infinite Kung Fu-- Kagan McLeod.

This is a book I've been waiting a long while to read. Like, years. Even when it came out in a TPB (and at a reasonable price), I never got around to actually buying the damn thing. I just looked at it and moved on and eventually forgot about it, which is the way of these things. If I hadn't found it at the library I don't know that I would have ever gotten around to it.

It's about Kung Fu and while I feel that my best Kung Fu loving years are behind me, this should be a good ride. One can always use more Kung Fu treachery in their life. Plus, it's called "Infinite Kung Fu." Who doesn't want to read that? That sounds like exactly what I need right now.

Lost Dogs-- Jeff Lemire.

Any time somebody smiles in a Jeff Lemire comic it seems like it's a set-up for something terrible to happen. And since Lost Dogs is one of his earlier, independent works, I'm fully expecting this to have an emotional palette that ranges from "Being waterboarded" to "Waterboarding your cat."

Not to say that it's going to be bad. I just know that it's probably going to hurt.

I never got around to writing about Sweet Tooth, so I suppose I'll do so here: Sweet Tooth is one of the best books Vertigo has come out with in a long time (or at least since Scalped). While Lemire's art is, um, rough, there is an emotional underbelly to that book that is so delicate that makes me feel like I've been writing wrong this entire time. And that's always a good sign. . .

War's End-- Joe Sacco.

I don't know much about Joe Sacco other than the fact that he tends to do books about war that are non-fiction. Apparently. I'll find out if I'm wrong soon enough.

This particular book is about Bosnia in the 90's, which despite Rick Steves' best efforts, is still not place that makes me think of a good time. Basically what I'm saying is that it'll likely be less merciless than the Jeff Lemire book I picked up.

The Infinite Horizon*-- Gerry Dugan and Philip Noto.

The Infinite Horizon is another book that I've been meaning to read for a long while. Well. Here I am. The library, once again, decided for me.

For those who don't know The Infinite Horizon is the Odyssey told in the modern era with the War on Terror serving in place of the Trojan War. It's a bit high concept for me and I don't have much attachment with the Odyssey outside of that one Wishbone episode, but anything that reminds me of Kings, however tangentially, is always welcome.

Wait. . . Is this title a reference to The Lost Horizon? Oh boy, that doesn't bode well. . .

Before Watchmen: Ozymandias/Crimson Corsair-- Len Wein, Jae Lee, John Higgins, and Steve Rude.

When I heard about this thing, the sudden taste of copper and bad oranges hit the back of my throat. It didn't seem right. When the talent attached to the project was announced and it almost seemed that DC, despite the wishes of the creators, despite good taste, and despite all odds, was trying to do this thing right. It's an especially odd choice when you consider that most alcoholics have less accute cases of self-sabotage than DC Comics.

And, yet, it still seemed wrong. Deeply and bizarrely wrong. I seemed odd that I had to have an opinion about it, to the point at which I had about the same feelings for it as crazy people that I have never met nor care to. It was like somebody was doing fanfic of the Bible. Or slash fiction on the Constitution. And they hired Stephen King to work on it. There's something to be said about leaving some things alone.

Then it came out and nobody cared and went away. That almost seemed like a small mercy. It was one less thing to be outraged about. One less thing to be annoyed about. Plus, since Alan Moore isn't involved in the project (except maybe buying one of the comics to make some sort of a Druidic hex), at least I don't have to worry about there being an obligatory rape.

I'm still curious, though. And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to throw actual money at the actual After Watchmen project. I'm sick, not crazy.

THE AD CULT DEMANDS BLOOD

Speaking of comics: I have written some. You can buy them in digital form or in good old analogue. The name of the collections I am featured in are The Freshman Fifteen and Old College Comics Presents. I'm rather proud of them. Everyone at Old College Comics is proud of the work we've done. It might not be the finest or the most polished comic book you'll ever read, but it's independent, it's

I also do a podcast called White Guys, Square Glasses. In this podcast my friend Cruz Flores and I ramble on about a particular movie in each episode. The subject ranges from schlocky camp fests to Japanese action movies to the odd Cold War thriller. It's a good time, through and through. On the latest podcast we reviewed the ridculous voodoo movie The Serpent and the Rainbow.

We're going to be changing the name to A Quality Interruption soon, so don't forget to subscribe to switch over when that happens on the 7th.

FOOTNOTES

*I read The Infinite Horizon. It isn't very good, you guys. You should probably read other things from Duggan and Noto instead.

AMERICA.

This shit? This shit right here? This is what this place is about.

I Won't Waste Your Time

But everyone within the sound of my voice should see Drive. Please. This is one of the good ones. This is what I got int movies for. Movies like this are why I love movies.



I would speak further on this, but I really want to make a podcast episode specifically about this movie because it is truly a wonderful film. It has everything a good movie should have. It's well shot, it's well acted, it has a good story, a good plot, and as meditative as it might get, or as slow as it might become, it injects incredible scenes of-- I wouldn't even call it action-- momentum. The movie moves.

And that's what movies should do. They should fucking move. At all times, in all circumstances, they should move.

Drive does that.

I cannot wait to see it again with my dad.

He Say You Brade Runna

I don't know why it took me this long to watch a documentary that has both Blade Runner and Mark Kermode. There's no real good answer for this.

God I love that movie.

I should read more Philip K. Dick. Again: I don't know why that is.

Repo Man

Why don't I own this movie?

Sub-thought: I'm pretty sure that Alex Cox doesn't know that this movie is as funny as it is. Maybe that's why it's so funny.

Galco's is Great

I gotta go there again.